


And headin' out singing our song

by bean_me_up



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Road Trip!, Set at some point post S2, There's more than one bed sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:27:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25838788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bean_me_up/pseuds/bean_me_up
Summary: It takes miles of sun-bleached interstate under the tires, past deserts and oceans and cities and forests, but eventually, they find their way back to each other.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 21
Kudos: 115





	And headin' out singing our song

Alex can't remember the last time he took a vacation. And he's been trying to be better, _kinder_ to himself, so when Liz and Max announce their engagement, and invite them all to their Seattle townhouse to celebrate, he decides to take the time off and drive up. He won't have to sit in an uncomfortable economy class seat for hours, he can see the sights along the way, and he gets to be away from Roswell for a few extra days. There's no real downside to this.

He packs up his car with a lunchbox cooler of snacks, an oversized duffel with his clothes and toiletries, and tosses in his guitar at the last moment. He's got a car charger for his phone, a GPS, and an old-fashioned paper map just in case, as well as an emergency kit in the trunk, and he's ready to go. The tank is full, and he's eager to get on the road.

He makes it half a mile out of his house before he hears an alarming grinding noise and smells smoke. He pulls over and gingerly pops the hood, looking at the smoking interior with dismay. He waves a hand in front of his face, trying to dissipate the black cloud rising from the engine. There's nothing he can do to fix this, so he pulls out his phone and dials Michael's number. They'd been making progress, learning to be friends again, learning to be comfortable in their own skins for the first time. So calling Michael with car trouble isn't an issue. It's not an issue when he tows the car to Sanders' and lets Alex ride in the cab of the tow truck. Not an issue when he nudges Alex to a seat as he bumps his car to the top of the work list. _Especially_ not an issue when Sanders comes out to yell at Michael for neglecting the oil change on Mrs. Mason's car, sees Alex waiting, and immediately turns and walks away, scolding forgotten.

"The hell did you do to your car, Alex?" Michael sounds vaguely indignant, like he's irritated with Alex on behalf of the car.

"Nothing! It just. . . made a noise and then starting smoking," Alex has to fight to not grin when he sees Michael dramatically throw his hands up and roll his eyes before sticking his head back under the hood to figure out what's going on.

It takes three minutes of Michael poking around, then another seven of him rummaging around the shop looking for something.

"You heading to the airport?" Michael can see the bag packed in the backseat. It's a fair question, everyone else is flying to Seattle in a few days, Isobel and Kyle and Maria.

Alex shakes his head. "I was going to drive."

Michael closes the hood, wiping his hands on a rag. "It's gonna be a few days before we get the part you need replaced. I can give you a ride to the airport if you want, or. . . " He trails off, a strange look on his face that Alex can't quite read.

"Or?"

"I'm driving up, too. We could leave later today. If you want."

Alex stares at Michael long enough for him to start fidgeting. He's half turned away by the time Alex calls out, "What time?"

Michael grins. "3 work?"

* * *

Alex spends the first two hours of the drive staring silently out the window, watching the scenery blur past, heading west into the dipping sun. Everything about this is too _familiar_ and it feels a little bit like a lead weight in his chest _._ Being in the passenger seat of Michael's truck, driving out past city limits, through miles of dusty desert, just the two of them. But this time it isn't the breathless excitement of zipping down the road, holding on just long enough to find a spot where they wouldn't get caught, wouldn't be disturbed. Those days are over a decade behind them, and now the landscape looks a little more muted as he wills the miles to slip under the tires faster.

He can feel Michael glance at him, now and again, hears the slight brush of curls against the back of the driver's seat. Eventually, Michael turns on the radio. They listen to whatever's playing, old, twangy tunes scratching themselves out of the truck's old speakers. Alex can't quite make the words out, so he doesn't even have to tamp down temptation to sing along. Michael's fingers occasionally tap something out against the steering wheel, snatches of rhythm.

Alex dozes on and off against the passenger window, waking up with a start when Michael places a gentle arm against his shoulder. He's instantly alert, looking around at the sleepy gas station they've pulled into. Michael frowns slightly. "You okay to take the next shift?"

"Yeah." Alex clears his throat, chases the sleep out of his voice. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Michael opens the door for him and drops the keys into his hand. "Whenever you want, we can find a place for the night."

"Sounds good."

* * *

They make it to Flagstaff just after midnight. Alex isn't as ready to sleep as he should be, and Michael's got energy, having spent the last hour loudly singing along to all the upbeat pop songs on a radio station he'd found. Alex had spent the last hour trying to find that grating rather than endearing.

Thankfully, their room has two beds. Michael claims the one by the window, shucking his coat and hat and flopping backwards into the covers with a sigh. Alex is far more controlled, sitting on the edge of the other bed to slip off his shoes.

"Mind if I keep the lamp on?" He gestures vaguely at the lamp between his bed and the wall.

Michael looks confused, so Alex clarifies. "To read. I'm not tired enough to sleep yet."

"Me either." He tosses his keys in the air, floating them gently back down to his hand a few times, contemplating. "I got a six pack in the truck." Michael sits up to look at Alex, who raises an eyebrow in response. Michael decides to take this as a _yes._

* * *

Alex and Michael are at least a few years too old to be getting tipsy off room-temperature beer in a cheap motel room, but they're both past caring, each sprawled out on their respective beds, empty beer bottles littering the bedside table. One beer had turned into two, then three, then into Michael crossing the street to a little convenience store for more.

"So how does this measure up to the little road trip you had planned for yourself?" Michael asks as he lazily floats a peanut from the package into his hand. He tosses it in the air and catches it in his mouth, chasing the salt on his lips with his tongue.

Alex tears his eyes away from Michael and looks up at the water-stained ceiling instead. "I was driving out to the coast first. See the ocean"

"If we keep up this pace, we'll get up to Seattle in two and a half, three days?"

"Sounds about right."

"You'd been planning to take a week."

"It was supposed to be a road trip. I wanted to take my time."

Michael rolls sloppily onto his side to look at Alex. "We could, you know."

Alex mirrors his position, the alcohol in his bloodstream making his movements loose and his self-control even looser. "Let's do it."

Michael kicks a leg in the air. "Road trip, baby!"

* * *

Alex is up first the next day. He feels an itch to keep moving, to see something other than desert, so he grabs the keys, steers a still sleepy Michael into the passenger seat, still grumbling about the early wake-up. The truck jostles and groans as it screams down Californian highways far above the speed limit, but eventually, they catch sight of the ocean. Alex pulls up at a vista point just off the road, a cliff overlooking blue waves, sun warming the landscape.

He feels small. Looking down below, looking out, looking up, wherever he looks he sees things bigger and more eternal than him. Because somewhere between the ocean and the horizon and the sky, he's just a speck, a flash. And, though he hates feeling small, has learned to make himself bigger as protection, the kind of small he feels right now is comfortable.

He hears Michael approach before he sees him lean forward against the railing, looking out at the horizon. "Feel kinda insignificant up here, don't you?"

* * *

They stop at a yard sale in Ventura because Michael wants to look through the table of old books for a gift for Max. Alex buys an old acoustic guitar that he definitely doesn't need, overpaying by about a hundred dollars when the man selling it lets slip that he's using the yard sale to raise funds for his daughter's dance class fees. The man thanks him profusely, pressing a worn old pick and capo into his hand as he leaves.

Traffic turns 101 into a parking lot, so by the time the sun is setting, they're only as far north as Solvang. Alex pulls into a little motel and gets them a room while Michael charms an elderly cafe owner, who gives them a couple of pastries for free with their sandwiches. They spend their evening passing the guitar back and forth under string lights in the park. Alex shoves the last of an apple tart in his mouth and claims sticky hands to hear Michael play just a little longer.

Michael strums aimlessly for a bit, then starts picking out 'Surfin' USA.'

"When in California, right?" He gives Alex a little sideways smile as he switches to 'Good Vibrations' before settling on 'Wouldn't It Be Nice.'

Alex can't help but sing along.

* * *

Alex narrowly manages to convince Michael that if they want to get to Portland at a reasonable hour, they need to skip the aquarium in Monterey. Michael's answering pout is almost enough to make him change his mind. They speed along Highway 1, windows down, watching the ocean. It's turbulent, waves crashing against rocks in a way that seems at odds with the gentle sunshine and the stillness of the surrounding landscape.

Alex can't bring himself to say no to Michael a second time, so they end up spending the evening at a science museum in San Jose. Michael is like a kid in a candy store, dragging Alex through the interactive exhibits. Space travel and robotics and renewal energy and earthquake engineering and Michael's enthusiasm doesn't wane. It breaks Alex's heart a little. He knows why Michael couldn't go to UNM, why his life had turned from a full-ride scholarship and an agricultural engineering career to stepping neatly into the role of town drunk, squeezing by on his pay from the autoshop. Alex _understands_ now, that Michael wasn't throwing his life away, that he was _giving it up_ so that he could be there for Max and Isobel. And how, at the same time, he pushed both of them away, trying to pretend like the sacrifices didn't scar him. But Alex grieves a little for the life they could have had if the universe had ever tended to mercy for either of them.

Some of this must show on his face because the next time Michael turns back from a display to show Alex something, his face drops to something a little more serious, and he steps closer to Alex. There's concern in his eyes and a hand on his shoulder and he's _too close_ but also not close enough, and when he asks if he's okay, Alex doesn't know how to answer.

Michael gently guides him to a bench a little out of the way. "Your leg bothering you?"

Alex shakes his head. "I was just. . . thinking."

Michael tilts his head, looking at Alex. The way he's always looked at Alex, like he's plexiglass, and Michael can see everything he's made of. Alex swallows, the words stuck in his throat. He wants so desperately to leave the past behind, to move _forward_. And actually take _steps_ toward a future, instead of tripping and falling in a stumbling attempt to escape everything in the rearview mirror. Michael takes his hand in his, and Alex _knows_ they're not together, but he can't help but think about what could have been. If he had been born to a different family, if he had lived a different life, if he had been born under a different star. Hell, if he and Michael had been born under the _same_ star, life would have been a little simpler. "You know," Michael starts, "In another lifetime, this could have been us."

Michael and Alex have had a bad habit of being in different books and just pretending to read along with each other, but it feels like, for once, they're on the same page. "What do you mean?"

"If things had gone differently for us. If I'd gone to UNM and you hadn't enlisted, maybe we'd be here."

Alex looks around. It's a mixed group of people in the exhibit hall, many of the adults in the backpacks and casual clothing that seemed to be something of a uniform among tech workers here. "You think we'd have left New Mexico?"

Michael looks into Alex's eyes for a long moment before blinking and looking down at his lap. "I think I'd have followed you wherever you wanted to go."

Alex's vision is going blurry, and it's only as he blinks does he realize he's crying. He pulls a hand up to his face, trying to wipe it away, a voice in his head that sounds like his father's berating him for being so emotional, for _crying_ in _public,_ but Michael just pulls him in for a hug. Alex holds him close, hides his face in his shoulder as he sheds silent tears for the future that had been shattered at Jesse Manes' hand so many years ago.

"I'm sorry," Michael says, but Alex shakes his head. This isn't a burden either of them should be carrying. He holds Michael tight and lets Michael hug him back.

* * *

Alex doesn't want to sit still afterwards, so Michael takes the keys and keeps driving north. They pick a pier at random and walk along it, the night quiet and peaceful, fog slowly rolling in over the hills. Alex takes Michael's hand, wanting the connection, wanting to feel Michael warm and alive beside him. They're both going to have to live with the could-have-beens but for now, they can enjoy the present. They spend the night in an overpriced hotel that Alex splurges on because he wants to look out at the bay from his window.

They explore San Francisco mostly on foot because both of them grew up in a small town in New Mexico, and neither of them want to brave the narrow streets and steep hills and chaotic drivers of the city. Alex thinks coming here should be something of a pilgrimage for him, but the part of him that wants to go the Castro or buy a rainbow flag, the same part of him that used to dream about marrying the boy he kissed in a UFO museum, has been shoved away and silenced for so long he doesn't know how to listen to it anymore. So instead, he and Michael get ice cream for breakfast, and walk along Fisherman's Wharf, caught up in a crowd of tourists.

Michael ducks into a little souvenir shop along the way, and Alex follows, happy to have his personal space bubble back. Alex loses Michael amongst displays of sweatshirts, but finds him again by a tray of pins, hearts and flags and fists, striped with different colors. Alex should know what more of these mean. He can recognize the rainbow flag, and a couple others, but he makes a note to look up the rest later. Michael picks out two pins striped pink, purple, and blue, holding them in his hand like they maybe weigh more than the couple of ounces of cheap metal and enamel they're made of. He gives Alex half a smile as he goes to pay. Alex stares at the display, then grabs a rainbow heart, practically sprinting to the checkout counter to buy it before the impulse leaves him.

He closes his fist over it as he thanks the cashier. He knows it's only warm to the touch because he's been holding it, but the warmth is pleasant and far better than the burning-through-his-hand it could have been. Alex meets Michael outside, still tightly clutching his pin, holding it in front of him like it's something precious, worth far more than the two dollars he just forked over. Michael's affixed one of his to his hat.

"Whatcha got there, Private?" Michael's smirk is lighter, somehow, than it is back in Roswell. Alex doesn't quite know what to make of it, but he slowly opens his hand, showing Michael his pin. Michael stares at it, so Alex does too.

Michael's eyes follow him as he pins it to his shirt, just hidden by the flannel he'd tossed on to ward off the chill. It tugs the flimsy t-shirt down a little with its weight but it's _there_ and Alex brushes a thumb over it before he looks back up at Michael. Michael smiles at him, tilted and easy.

"It looks good on you."

He isn't really looking at the pin when the words slip out of his mouth.

* * *

They end up camping somewhere outside Ashland that night, Michael wanting a break from the noise and lights and crowds of the city. It's warm, and sleeping in Michael's truck bed is still surprisingly comfortable. It's close quarters and they're tucked against each other to make it work.

"I always used to dream about running away to San Francisco," Alex says, the darkness of night and the scent of pine in the air and the glittering stars above making his tongue a little looser. "I used to dream about running away, in general, but San Francisco was always on my list."

"List?"

"Of cities," Alex clarifies. "Where I could go, where it would be safe, where I wouldn't have to be afraid. Leave the Manes legacy to Clay and Greg and Flint and be _free_."

"So how does it feel?" Michael's staring up at the stars. Alex wonders if he's looking for the star that he lived under for seven years before crash landing on some dark night decades ago.

Alex turns to face him. "I don't think the city's what makes me feel safe." It's half an admission, but it's enough to make Michael roll onto his side to look at him. Alex rubs his thumb along the smooth heart-shaped pin still affixed to his shirt. Michael reaches out a hand to cover Alex's.

"I used to dream about running away, too. Building my space ship and taking off, looking for a place I can call home _._ " Michael's thumb traces a pattern along Alex's hand. "Then I met you, and it clicked for me. Still does." Alex tries to take a breath around the lump in his throat, but can't, can't calm his heart or still the trembling of the hand that's not in Michael's.

"I can't run away to San Francisco. Or anywhere else." Alex is getting closer to a full admission, and it's terrifying, but it also wants to spill out of him, and he doesn't think he can stop. "Because you're not there. Because I meant it when I said that you're my family. You're the _home_ that I wanted to find."

Michael is silent and so is Alex, the gentle chirp of insects the only sound in the forest. Then they're both moving, meeting in the middle in a desperate kiss. It's warm and perfect and Alex wants _more,_ to be closer, so he pulls Michael to him, feels him melt against his body, and all he can think is that this is what home should feel like.

Michael is the first to break the kiss but he doesn't move away. He rests his forehead against Alex's, breathing him in. "I meant it, too. When I said I'd never look away. And maybe, maybe it's our time now."

Alex traces a hand against the side of Michael's face, follows the line of his jaw. "We found our way back to each other."

Michael smiles, leaning into the touch. "It's cosmic. We just had to figure out how to fit together."

Alex shifts a little, rolling to lie on his back, Michael tucked against him. "Do you still want to leave? Earth, I mean. I know the console was destroyed the night of Crash Con but. . ."

"Not anymore." Michael shakes his head, tickling Alex's ribs. "I think Earth might have finally made a little place for me here."

"With me?" The hope might suffocate him but he'd rather drown in it than go back to the doubt and fear that had he'd worked so hard to shake off.

"If you'll have me."

Alex pulls him in for another kiss, and they fall asleep curled up together under the stars.

* * *

They wake up early the next morning, the cold and dew forcing them awake. It's barely five, and Michael tosses Alex the keys and shoves him toward the passenger seat to get warm while he finishes rolling up the bedding in the back. They get over-strong coffee from the first place they find, some neutral-toned, Instagram-friendly hipster shop that refuses to serve dairy or processed sugar, and drink it along the way, watching the sun rise over the trees, turning the whole world soft and pink and orange for a little while.

It's a little past one when they pull into Portland's city limits. Alex buys them lunch while Michael gets dessert, and they eat outside in a park. Michael slides into Alex's space. "So. . ."

Alex turns fully to look at him, pulls one of Michael's hands into his, intertwines their fingers because he _can_. "Yes?"

"What's today's adventure?"

* * *

They hold hands as they walk through a rose garden, kiss behind bookshelves at the biggest book store Alex has ever seen, and end up in a little motel by the river. The day feels forever long and that time is so precious when they've never had it before. They can take it slow, gentle with each other and themselves.

Alex pulls Michael into the motel room by his hand, shutting the door behind them and carding a hand through Michael's curls. He takes it slow now too, sweet and so full of love he can barely breathe. They fall asleep curled up together, and Michael tugs the extra blanket over Alex with his telekinesis so he doesn't have to let go of him.

* * *

It rains the next day, soaking both of them through as they run to where the truck is parked. The drive up to Seattle is gray and stormy and rainy and _beautiful_ and they switch off on the driving so that they can take turns staring out the window. Alex reaches over for Michael's hand as he navigates down Highway 5, and Michael switches from staring out the window to staring at Alex.

Alex rolls down the window just a little bit, for the fresh forest air, for the smell of the rain, for the chill on his skin. They're driving through a misty dreamscape and he wants to _feel_ every second of it. Michael squeezes his hand. Eventually, peaceful forests give way to city blocks, low sprawling industrial complexes leading into gleaming high rises, disappearing upward into the gray sky. Empty roads fill with impatient city drivers, but Alex stays in the slow lane, drives with one hand, so he doesn't have to let go, doesn't have to untangle his fingers from Michael's where their hands rest joined across the center console. He glances over at Michael. He doesn't think he'll be letting go anytime soon, either.

**Author's Note:**

> Say hello on [tumblr!](https://stars-and-sunshine.tumblr.com/)


End file.
